Blind Corner Lazy Susan Novels & Stories

“May the Goddess watch over you, good reverend.” Smiling, Zen waved goodbye to the accommodating gatekeeper. “We’ll find your key. I promise,” he waved and left with Charlie leading the way. The labyrinth was as dark as the gatekeeper had informed them. Truthfully, Zen did not really need the Watcher’s Lamp. If they had Armoured Slime Boss Eyes, Zen could easily craft an accessory that negates all blindness effects and detects infrared light, providing the user with permanent night vision. Liu Feng would gladly loan his accessory to Zen if he requested it. However, Party Freedom did not seem to be interested in farming. They were rushing to push Damian and Zen to the new stage, and it was qu

They watched me through the shower glass. I soaped slow. Blind. Exposed. I bent for the soap. And saw it in the drain. Half a contact lens. Blue. Not mine. Not my sister's—hers are brown. Someone else showered here. I stood. Wrapped the towel. Fumbled the tuck. Blind people can't see mirrors. "Your phone," the robot voice said. I reached out. "Where?" "Counter. Left." Wet phone. Cracked screen. I turned on VoiceOver—Siri reading fast, gibberish to them, clear to me.

A MONTH AND A HALF LATER HARA “Suzy, here's an order from table 14, make it quick!“ “Got it!“ I yelled, moving my quick hands through the wine shelves. I filled the glasses and a waitress immediately came for them. Heaving tiredly, I slumped against the counter. Sweat ran down my face like waterfalls and all I could do was roughly wipe at them with the back of my hands. It was my free five seconds and I wasn't about to waste it wiping my sweats. I'd been so busy attending to orders that I forget to breathe and now, I was short of breath. These five seconds would be wisely spent on catching all the breaths I'd missed out on. I'd barely caught her breath before a hand slammed another order on

"Besides, it's personal for me now. If you just went to the embassy and disappeared into a witness protection program, how would I ever find out why Krista likes eating your pussy so much?" Everyone roared with laughter and Susan flushed. "Why would you be interested in such a thing with a woman of my age?" Susan asked. "I'm 52, easily old enough to be your mother, I'd imagine." "A blind man can't tell the age or race of the pussy he's eating," Zach replied. "He only knows that he's eating a pussy."

"Are you blind? Check it out." Confused, Sally took the glasses and looked outside again. She held the binoculars up, sighted down them to the blue light and then held them to her eyes. She adjusted the spread of the glasses, then looked through them again. She saw the blue glow, but everything was blurry. She rolled her finger along the focus on top of the glasses and the image sharpened. A man was sitting at his computer, reading something. Sally lowered the glasses and looked back at Trish and Becky. They stared through the window blinds as if their very lives depended on it.

After Sienna traced this address, possibly even after we discovered it was connected to the shell company at all. I move deeper into the room, and that's when I see it, tucked into the corner where the shadows still pool thick even with the daylight bleeding weakly through a cracked window high above. A single chair, wooden, old, positioned facing the wall rather than the door, and draped over its back, folded with a precision that feels deliberate rather than accidental, a length of dark fabric. A blindfold.

Hinawi ng isang kamay ang Venetian blind upang tumanaw sa labas. Ilang linggo na siyang nababalisa. Hindi buo ang konsentrasyon niya sa trabaho. Hindi rin siya mapagkatulog at makakain. Para bang may dapat siyang gawin, may dapat siyang makita... Si Scarlett Bustamante ba ang gusto niyang makita? Hinanap niya ang kasagutan sa mga ulap. At ang nakita niya ay ang magandang mukha ng dalaga. Pati ang hinog na hubog ng katawan nito.

I was trying to catch any sign of a pulse under her swan’s neck when I realised that Sir Gerard Seymour Hornby was staring at me. “May we go through,” he asked gesturing at the door to the living room. “Of course,” I said. His companion turned her head slowly in my direction. Her lips formed a timid and trembling smile. Her eyes groped the void, pupils white as marble. I gulped. She was blind. I followed them, unable to take my eyes off the woman with the china doll’s complexion and white eyes, the saddest eyes I had ever seen. “Please take a seat,” I said, trying to disguise the nervousness in my voice. Arsenal had just scored, but that seemed quite insignificant now, so I picked up the

Jimmy conceded, letting out a soft sigh as everyone eagerly awaited him to blow out the candles. Resting his hands on the table, he closed his eyes, leaned toward the cake, and blew out the candles. The room erupted in cheers, clapping, and shouts of encouragement. As he lifted his head, he suddenly caught sight of a familiar figure near the dining table, accompanied by a small leg beside her. The room fell silent as Jimmy followed the familiar feet up to a face, his heart racing. There stood Susan, beaming with a warm smile, holding the hand of a little girl whose resemblance to him was astonishing—the same curly hair framing her face. Jimmy's still frozen, staring at Susan. The little girl

A painting hangs beside his desk. I don’t know why it draws me in, but I find myself walking closer. Thick strokes of midnight blue and charcoal gray layer the canvas. In the center — barely visible unless you truly look — a thin streak of gold cuts through the darkness. Not bright. Not loud. Just there. A quiet fracture of light. It isn’t something you glance at. It’s something you feel. My fingers almost lift to touch the textured paint. Why would a blind man choose something so visual?